


follow (what we once held dear)

by BeggarWhoRides



Series: Childhood Friends AU [3]
Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide attempt, Nudity, Teenagers, Teenagers making irrational and poorly thought-out decisions, Underage Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-21
Updated: 2017-07-21
Packaged: 2018-12-05 05:15:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11571099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeggarWhoRides/pseuds/BeggarWhoRides
Summary: They haven’t spoken in over a year, but there Delphine is, on Cosima’s doorstep, with red-rimmed eyes and a duffle bag.“You can’t stay here,” Cosima says dumbly, because her mouth moves ahead of her brain, which is currently blanking completely on what to do with this situation.“I know,” Delphine says. She shifts the bag on her shoulder, eyes darting to anything but Cosima’s face. “I was hoping you would come with me.”





	follow (what we once held dear)

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for: Explicitly referenced self-harm and suicide attempts, and self-harm scars--tread with caution if any of these are triggering to you.
> 
> The third part of the Childhood Friends AU, but can stand alone. Considerably angstier than the other installments.They're teenagers in this fic, and make quite poorly thought out decisions. I don't recommend solving problems the way these girls choose to, for the record.
> 
> Title is from "Shattered & Hollow" by First Aid Kit. I highly recommend listening to it while reading--the song is really the vibe I was going for with the fic. Written pre-05x05, so Cosima's mom is an OC.

“I’ll be back by Tuesday!” Cosima’s mom calls up the stairs.

“You said three times already!” Cosima shouts back. She’s lying on her bed, not even bothering to look up from her comic book. Though it was hardly the first time her mother had gone out of town on some work function or other, it was the first time the 17 year old Cosima was being permitted to stay alone in the house instead of carted off to grandparents. She’d been thrilled of course--until about the fourth time her mother had gone over every single emergency number imaginable and each house rule. 

“No parties! No weed!”

“I _know,_ Mom!” 

“I’ll be calling every night!” 

“And I will have my phone at all times!” Cosima recites back, flipping a page and snorting at Deadpool’s conversation with Blind Al. 

“There are plenty of meals that can be microwaved--do _not_ try to cook, Cosima Niehaus! Don’t you _dare--”_

“After what happened last time, I know, I know!” Cosima flips the next page with a bit more force. “The fire wasn’t even that bad,” she adds under her breath.

“Don’t think I can’t sense you backtalking me!” Cosima groans, letting her head fall forward onto the book pages. “Now, are you going to come give me a goodbye hug, or am I going to have to come up there and get it?”

She rolls off her bed with a bit more noise and drama than strictly necessary, but Cosima is grinning by the time she’s at the top of the stairs, her mother grinning back up at her from the front hallway. 

“There she is. Thought there was an elephant stomping around up there.”

“Elephants are actually pretty quiet when they walk,” Cosima points out as she half-slides down the banister. “They’ve got large pads of fat in their feet and their foot structure means they’re walking on tiptoe so their weight settles and spreads.”

“A landslide, then.” Esther Niehaus spreads her arms and Cosima settles into her mother’s embrace easily. “Honestly darling, take care of yourself, don’t do anything _too_ wild, and call. Really, do call.” 

“Yes, Mom.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

She steps back, and Cosima grabs her mother’s handbag and holds it out. Her mother smirks.

“Not hesitant about getting rid of me, then?”

“I mean, the wild and drug-fueled party with three hundred people I’ve got planned is going to start in fifteen minutes, so…”

“Brat,” her mother laughs, taking the bag. “I’ll see you--”

“Tuesday.”

“Yes, I will. In one piece please!” Her mother presses one quick kiss to Cosima’s forehead before gathering her things and leaving with a bright wave. Cosima waves back before proceeding to begin her wild and crazy evening--pulling a bag of chips out of the cupboard and going back upstairs to finish her comic book.

She’s barely three pages in when the doorbell rings.

“Okay, Mom,” she calls, sliding down the railing. “It’s gotta be your phone charger, your passport, or your keys. So which--”

She pulls open the door and freezes.

“You’re not Mom.”

“I am not.”

They haven’t spoken in over a year, but there Delphine is, on Cosima’s doorstep, with red-rimmed eyes and a duffle bag. 

“You can’t stay here,” Cosima says dumbly, because her mouth moves ahead of her brain, which is currently blanking completely on what to do with this situation.

“I know,” Delphine says. She shifts the bag on her shoulder, eyes darting to anything but Cosima’s face. “I was hoping you would come with me.”

“Come with you.” Cosima hasn’t let go of the door handle, hasn’t moved from where her feet are rooted in the doorway. “Delphine, I--I could be busy. I could be doing-- _anything.”_

“Are you?”

Cosima blows out a long sigh, looking at a cloud over Delphine’s shoulder instead of Delphine. The sun will be setting soon. “Where exactly are we supposed to go?”

Delphine shrugs. “The ocean.”

“Specific.”

Delphine shrugs again, but she can’t hide the sniff either. Neither of them are looking at each other, both of them pretending they’re fine. Neither acknowledging the gulf between them that shouldn’t be new anymore, but hurts just like it is.

“Well.” Cosima still doesn’t look at Delphine, but she does take a step back. “Turns out I was bored tonight anyway.” Delphine stiffens, her gaze swings up to Cosima, and Cosima pretends she doesn’t notice. “I’ll grab my car keys.”

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------

It’s been half an hour, and neither of them have spoken since getting into the car.

The sun is setting slowly, the sky going dark behind them. Delphine has her window down, one arm hanging out. Cosima is watching the road, but whenever she can, is sneaking glances at Delphine.

The thing is, it’s been over a _year._ For two girls who’d been inseparable since Delphine had moved in next door over a decade ago, that was an impossible amount of time to be apart--but they’d managed it. Not a word, not a look.

It was made easier by the fact that they’d been continents apart, but still.

“Do you even know how to drive?” Cosima blurts suddenly. Out of the corner of her eye, Delphine startles.

“Ah, no.” 

“So what exactly were you going to do if I hadn’t agreed to drive you?”

Delphine shrugs, a movement that manages to be graceful thanks to Delphine’s deliberate gracelessness as she does it, and leans her head against the car door. Cosima, despite everything in her nature, bites her tongue and refocuses on the road.

That lasts for all of two minutes.

The silence is still heavy in the car, but Cosima’s made this drive hundreds of time, and Delphine has always been unfairly alluring. Even now.

She’s different now--hell, Cosima’s different too. Dreads like her mother’s and a still-fresh nose ring are the most obvious evidence of that, but that’s not the only thing that’s changed. She’s settled solidly into her friend group--Sarah and Helena, Felix, Tony, even Beth and Alison. She’s part of the Biology Club, the Robotics Club, and the GSA. She’s a great candidate for a scholarship to Berkeley, her dream school. She’s spent a year carefully crafting an entire life around the hole Delphine had left behind.

And all it took was Delphine showing up to send it all crashing back down.

But Delphine isn’t the same as she’d been the last time Cosima’d seen her. Her hair is longer, and there are new circles under her eyes. She’s lost weight too, not that she ever had much to spare. The sundresses and gauzy shirts she’d always worn are gone as well, replaced with a tight black shirt, the sleeves pulled halfway up her palms. It’s a warm evening, but she shows no signs of pulling those sleeves up anytime soon.

There’s a hollowness just under Delphine’s skin, dull in her once-warm hazel eyes, that Cosima’s never seen before.

It hurts seeing Delphine like this--it hurts seeing Delphine at all. Somehow this, sitting next to Delphine in her little car, hurts more than that last day they’d been together, with the shouting and slammed doors. It hurts more than when, almost a month ago, her mother had sat her down and said that Delphine was back in town--back in that white house next door. Cosima hadn’t been sure if she’d wanted to or not, but either way she hadn’t seen a whisper of Delphine.

Until tonight.

She’s close enough to touch tonight.

But there might as well be an ocean between them.

“Break is almost over,” Cosima tries, looking firmly at the road. “When are you leaving?”

“I have a plane to catch tonight.”

“Tonight?” Cosima can’t help looking at Delphine, though Delphine isn’t looking back. “When?”

Delphine glances at the clock on the dashboard. “It is meant to take off in fifteen minutes.”

There’s a long beat.

“I’m driving up to Point Reyes,” Cosima says slowly. “It’s in the opposite direction of the airport.”

“I know.”

“Aren’t your parents going to call?”

“My phone is turned off.”

“Damn it, Delphine, what is going _on?”_ Cosima bursts, smacking her hand on the steering wheel. “What are we doing?”

“We are going to the beach.” Delphine’s French accent is stronger now, and she doesn’t quite make it to that teasing cadence the two had shared between them, but she is trying so hard it’s almost pleading. “I thought you could tell, with your skills of scientific observation.”

Cosima snorts, bitter but too amused to really bite. “Well, we’re not going straight there--I gotta take a leak. And since you’re gonna be just a little late for your plane…”

Delphine almost laughs, a little pleased rumble in her throat, and it’s enough to make Cosima smile as she pulls over into a gas station. She leaves Delphine to fill up the car--Delphine had agreed to pay as she’d essentially kidnapped Cosima into this. The gas station itself is quiet and mostly empty, save for a cashier whose look of total indifference could give Sarah Manning a run for her money. 

On the way out, she browses the sad assortment of snacks, and her fingers land on a roll of mentos. It tickles something in the back of her mind, a conversation she’d had with Delphine years ago, before everything. A ruined rug and the smell of vinegar in the air, when the most important thing was the school science fair and she’d never dreamed of losing Delphine.

She knows nothing will ever be that easy again.

But she grabs the diet Coke and mentos anyway.

Delphine’s waiting in the car when Cosima comes out, the gas tank full and car ready. Cosima clambers into the driver’s side, settling the bag between them.

“What is it?”

“A surprise. _Surprise,”_ Cosima adds pointedly when she sees Delphine’s fingers straying toward the bag. “You’ll see when we get there. It’ll be another half-hour, max.”

Delphine pouts a bit, but Cosima likes seeing the bit of expression on Delphine’s face anyway. The stars are creeping out, competing with the city lights as they pull out of the gas station.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Are we allowed to be here?”

“You said the ocean,” Cosima says, the truck grumbling a bit as they go over some less-paved road. “So, I’ll bring you the ocean.”

Delphine is still curled up small in the passenger seat, but she’s looking forward now. Her curls bounce with every bump the road hits, but her face stays the same--blank, save for the faintest pinching around the eyes.

“Why?” It’s soft, and Delphine isn’t looking at Cosima, but the car is quiet enough that her question isn’t lost. “Cosima, why are you doing this for me?”

Cosima takes a long, long moment.

“Don’t ask questions like that,” she says finally, pretending she needs to focus on the trail. “Just...please don’t ask me that.”

_“D’accord.”_ It’s barely a breath. They’re both silent until the dirt and gravel under the car turns to sand and Cosima slowly brakes. 

“Here we are.”

The sky is nearly pitch by now, yellow-white sand turned greyish in the rising moonlight. They stumble out of the car, Cosima with the bag slung over her arm. For several heartbeats she just closes her eyes and breathes.

Cosima is a San Fran girl, has been her entire life. This place is where she was bred and born, where she grew.

And every time she goes down to the seashore, every part of her sings. A homecoming as deep as her bones.

The salt air fills her up, soothing all those parts of her she didn’t even realize were hurting. Life started somewhere like here. Somewhere in the water a group of chemicals learned how to grow and set into motion a chain of random chance and miracles tumbling across the entire globe, ending in every blade of grass, every bug in the sand, dogs and cats and the lady who’d done her piercing, and somewhere along the way, Cosima herself. 

It’s impossible for your hurts to feel like they mean anything, in front of the ocean.

It’s also impossible to feel small.

Cosima opens her eyes and sees Delphine, standing on the other side of the car. She’s holding herself, but the tension is drained out of her shoulders. The little furrows on her face are gone. Cosima watches Delphine take a breath, hair tossed in the salty wind, and let her eyes slide shut.

Delphine gets it. Delphine has always gotten it, those parts of Cosima so important and that she could never quite put into words. All those things Cosima thought no one else would ever understand.

And then Delphine had left, and taken so much of Cosima with her.

Cosima is still all broken pieces, sharp enough that if she’s pressed, she cuts. She hadn’t thought she’d ever be whole again. She’s _angry,_ underneath everything else, angry and scared and desperate to understand _why._

But despite all that, it is good--it is _so_ good to see Delphine again.

“Is this what you needed?” Cosima calls over. Delphine opens her eyes, but she does not look back at Cosima.

“I don’t know,” and it’s raw and honest in a way Delphine so rarely is. “But I think it is helping.” 

Then she looks over at Cosima, smiling in a way that almost meets her eyes for the first time that night. God, Cosima can’t _breathe._ “You said you had a surprise?”

“Yeah,” Cosima stutters. “Yeah, here, come over here,” and she heads down the beach, closer to where the waves are crashing on the shore. _Wine-dark,_ Homer had called the sea, and that never feels more accurate than at night. She glances over her shoulder to see Delphine following. 

“What is it?”

“Well…” Cosima pulls the mentos and Coke out of her bag with a flourish. It’s half a second before Delphine half-frowns in confusion.

“Are we having a picnicking?” 

“Did you say ‘a picnicking?’”

“Yes?”

“Okay, just checking.” Cosima sets the 2-liter Coke on the sand, carefully unwrapping the mentos. “And no, even I know that you need more than soda and candy for a picnic. So you still don’t know about the Coke and mentos thing?”

“No?” Delphine echoes, sounding even more confused.

“Okay, so remember that volcano we made in your bedroom when we were in middle school?”

“How could I forget?” Delphine is suddenly closer, and Cosima’s fingers slip for a moment. “My room smelled of vinegar for weeks.” 

“Yeah, well, this is sort of like that,” Cosima says, uncapping the Coke. “My mom showed me when I was like, 8. I think I spent half my allowance on Coke and mentos for weeks after, I loved it so much.” 

“What will happen?” 

“That would be telling,” Cosima grins, crouching down and holding a handful of mentos above the open Coke. Delphine crouches down on the other side of the bottle, glancing over at Cosima. “Now, don’t look directly over the bottle, or put your hand over it or anything once I drop them in, okay? But you’ll want to stay right next to it, look closely to see the reaction, okay? Ready?”

“Yes--Cosima why are you run-- _Cosima!”_ Delphine shrieks, falling over in her stumbling attempts to get out from underneath the soda geyser. Cosima, safely several feet away, is laughing hard enough that it hurts. “You _brat!”_

“Your _face!”_

“You _knew_ that would happen!”

“Yes, yes I did.” Cosima tries very hard to stop laughing--though Delphine’s face, clearly warring between outraged and amused, doesn’t help. Delphine picks herself up, shoving wet hair out of her face and grimacing. 

“I am covered.”

“Yes, yes you are.” Delphine huffs, shooting Cosima a glare that has absolutely no effect before crossing over to the still-foaming Coke bottle. 

“Cosima?”

“Yes?” 

“Cosima, is this meant to happen?” There’s a note of urgency in Delphine’s voice. Like she’s handling a bomb, Delphine very carefully lifts the bottle, squinting into the bottle. 

“What?”

“I do not understand--Cosima, come look.” 

“I’ve never seen anything weird in the bottle afterward, just foam and Coke,” Cosima says, hurrying over the sand. Delphine is still staring in something like fascination at the bottle. “I guess maybe the salt in the air could’ve changed the chemistry--?”

Cosima gets within arm’s reach of Delphine. Delphine lifts the bottle over Cosima’s head and upends it.

“Oh. My. God.” Cosima blinks, Coke and foam streaming down her clothes. “You. _Asshole.”_

“Hm.” Delphine runs her finger down Cosima’s cheek, and Cosima tries not to shiver--made harder as Delphine puts her finger in her mouth and swirls her tongue around. “It is true, what they say. Revenge is sweet.”

“Asshole,” Cosima says faintly. Delphine just giggles. “I am _covered.”_

“I am worse,” Delphine retorts, gathering the empty bottle and wrappers. “I will take these to the car?” 

“Sure, thanks.” Delphine heads back up the beach, and Cosima sits where she was standing. After a moment she works off her shoes and socks, rolling up her pant legs. Delphine gets back just as Cosima is wandering into the surf, the waves washing up over her ankles.

“My clothes are soaking,” Delphine murmurs from a few feet away, safe on the sand.

“Mine too.” Cosima sighs, plucking at her sodden sleeves. “Guess there’s no helping it.”

“No helping what?”

But before she can lose her nerve, Cosima grabs the hem of her shirt and pulls it off over her head.

_“Cosima?”_

“We’ve gotta let our clothes dry,” she points out, tossing her bra in the same direction she’d tossed her shirt. Her voice is light and casual, but she very carefully keeps her back to Delphine, avoiding even glancing back at her while she steps out of her pants. “And we’ve gotta do something while they do.” 

“Naked swimming?”

“Skinny dipping,” Cosima corrects, wading deeper. “You coming?”

“I--the clothes will dry but we will be wet.”

“There’s some towels in the car.” _Probably._

“You are not freezing?”

“Water’s warmer than the air right now!”

When the water is up to her waist, Cosima turns around, her arms wrapped around her chest. Delphine is still on the sand, her posture almost a mirror of Cosima’s--though she is very carefully not looking at Cosima. 

“Look,” Cosima says, and Delphine looks up. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t wanna. No judgement here. But if what you really want to do is sit there in your soaking soda shirt…” 

“No, I…” Delphine takes a deep breath, whole body shifting with it. “I will join you.” She says it like a declaration of war, grasping at her shirt for a moment before pulling it off in a decisive movement. 

Cosima turns away, pretending to be suddenly fascinated by the moon’s reflection. She feels ridiculously hyper-aware of every sound coming from behind her--birds calling from the forest, Delphine’s clothes dropping on the sand, waves washing up on the sand, Delphine stepping into the water.

Delphine, approaching from behind.

“You were right about the water.” 

“I’m right about most things,” Cosima says with a grin--and she turns, and the breath stops in her chest.

A few years ago, an art exhibit featuring the works of John William Waterhouse had come to San Fran, and Cosima had spent a day there. His paintings were classical, romantic and beautiful--portraits of women from literature and history, intricate and intimate, brief moments captured on canvas forever. Ophelia and Thisbe and the Lady of Shalott, haunting and alluring and tragic.

Delphine seems to walk out of a Waterhouse portrait.

The water laps just above her hipbones, inky black in the night. In the moonlight her pale skin goes white and luminous, her hair golden and shining, her eyes downcast. Cosima can’t _breathe._

There’s a painting of Waterhouse’s, _Hylas and the Nymphs._ There’d been a summary of the myth next to the painting--Hylas had dipped his hand in the water, and a nymph had taken it, kissed him, and he’d never been seen again.

Cosima thinks she gets it now.

“You are staring,” Delphine says softly, arms still over her chest.

“You’re not,” Cosima says, because Cosima is an _idiot._ “Is the view that bad?”

“No,” Delphine says, looking up--and the moonlight washes the color from everything, but that _does_ look like a flush high on her cheeks. “No, it--I--ah, that is new, yes? The--” Delphine gestures vaguely toward Cosima’s arm.

“Oh, the ink?” Cosima forces her gaze away, lifting her forearm and looking at the tattooed seashell there. “Yeah--well, not new anymore, but since...yeah. I got it after.” 

They’re avoiding each other’s gazes and it has nothing to do with nudity. The warm summer night is suddenly far too cold.

“Is it...the nautilus? That you always spoke about?”

“Yup.” Cosima bites off the end of the word. “Got it alone.”

“Oh.”

“Always thought you’d be there for me, you know? Since that was always what we talked about. But you weren’t there.”

“Cosima…” 

“You _weren’t there,”_ and she’s been working _so hard_ to keep a lid on everything for _so long_ and she’d nearly made it--nearly gotten through the night--but she can’t stop now. “Delphine, you weren’t there. You _left_ me and--” 

“This was a mistake,” Delphine says, half-turning. “I am sorry, I should not have--” 

“You don’t get to leave again, not without some _answers--”_

Delphine starts heading for the shore and Cosima catches her by the wrist. Delphine tries to twist away, but Cosima’s grip is firm, tighter after she realizes what she’s found. It would’ve been easy to miss--just a line, a bit thicker and harder than the skin around it. After a few months, the skin would’ve softened and faded. After some years, they might not’ve been noticeable at all.

“Delphine,” Cosima says, but Delphine seems to have given up completely, going away to somewhere deep inside herself. Cosima gently draws Delphine toward her, taking both her arms and turning them over.

The scars are pink, sickly and shining in the faint light. 

Cosima doesn’t know if she should scream or throw up.

“Delphine,” Cosima says, because there is nothing else to say. “Why did you leave? What _happened_ when you left?”

“I did not want to leave,” Delphine says, not looking at Cosima but not pulling away. “I never wanted to leave. The school here, living here--I loved it all.”

“Then _why--”_

“My mother wanted.” Delphine shakes her head, a little helplessly. “So I went.” 

“You could have told me,” Cosima insists, hands tightening on Delphine’s wrists.

“You were so angry, when I told you I was leaving.” Delphine is shaking her head more vigorously now, hands opening and closing on thin air. “I knew you would not understand how I needed to go. I _needed_ to go.”

“You could have called,” Cosima says, but it’s weak. “Or written.”

“But you did not.” It’s such a simple statement, but it shatters them both. “I believed you were happier without me.”

“I thought you were happier at that school, in France, I--” Cosima’s eyes are watering, and she blinks furiously. _I was selfish and angry and proud._ “What the fuck were we doing, Delphine?” 

_I was hurting._

“I loved you,” and there it is, what she’s been holding back since she was ten years old, out in the air. She feels Delphine stiffen, and she doesn’t dare look. 

“You do not mean as friends.” 

“No. No, I do not. God,” and she tosses her head back, staring up at the sky. Pretends the only salt water in her eyes is from the sea. “I loved you, Delphine. I loved you.”

“That is terrible news,” Delphine says slowly. Cosima thought she’d been hurting before, but _God,_ this nearly sends her to her knees. “Because I love you still.”

The night feels like a glass sphere, on a table’s edge. A beautiful dream and she’s waiting to wake.

“You can’t say that,” Cosima says, eyes pressed shut. “That’s not the sort of thing you can just say. Not without meaning it, not without knowing what it means, because I--”

“I know.” Delphine’s voice is steady, and Cosima tells herself she doesn’t want to, that Delphine is lying, but--

She opens her eyes. Delphine is looking back, and her eyes are shining but they are true. 

And Cosima wants to believe.

And Cosima does.

“Cosima,” Delphine says, “I--” 

Cosima lifts Delphine’s arm, her palm still facing up. Delphine isn’t breathing, and Cosima isn’t sure if she is either. She’s firm, though, as she holds Delphine’s arm, as she lowers her head.

Her lips brush feather-light against the scar.

Delphine’s breath catches, but Cosima keeps moving, raising the other arm and kissing that scar so gently, so reverently.

And then she looks up at Delphine.

There are tears streaming freely down Delphine’s face, her expression terribly lost and so, _so_ close to hopeful. Cosima lets go of Delphine’s wrists but doesn’t break contact, only sliding her hands down so both of them have their arms at their sides, their fingers entwined. 

It’s Delphine who leans forward and down a little. Cosima barely has time to tilt her head back and up and then--

She is kissing Delphine Cormier.

She’d imagined this more times than she’d like to admit, and in none of those scenarios were either of them crying, in none of them were there scars, in none of them was there so much pain between them.

But none of them had been this good.

There is salt air and _Delphine_ all around her, mixed with the stale scent of drying Coke clinging to both of them, water is lapping against her back and Delphine is holding onto her so tightly, Delphine is pulling her in and Cosima goes so willingly, digging her toes into the sand so she can go up on tiptoe, so she can lean into Delphine. Delphine makes a faint noise that might’ve been _Cosima,_ and Cosima very nearly melts.

Their chests are brushing. Their chests are bare. It’s electric enough to make Cosima gasp, barely suppressing a shiver. 

And then she’s _actually_ shivering, because the water is warmer than the air, but that doesn’t mean much when the air temperature is dipping below 60.

“We should go to shore,” Delphine says, running her thumb across Cosima’s hand. “I do not want you catching cold.” 

“Yeah, probably.” Cosima huffs. “Maybe this wasn’t the best idea.” 

Delphine laughs, gentle and warm. They head back in, together.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Cosima’s trusty old car doesn’t creak at all as she leans back against the hood, nor when Delphine climbs on next to her.

“Call your parents?”

“Yes--well, my mother,” Delphine says, sighing. “Told her I was safe, and not abducted. I then turned my phone back off.” She winces a little. _“Maman_ is rather furious.” 

“I bet.” Cosima hadn’t been _actively_ eavesdropping, but the flurry of French had been as hard to miss as it was incomprehensible. She suspected rather more had been said than what Delphine was telling, but she wasn’t going to push. Delphine leans back, stretching her long legs out in front of her, and Cosima does her best not to look. There had been old towels in the car, and some clothes, so Cosima was clad in something close to her normal--jeans and a faded hoodie she thought she’d lost two years ago. Delphine is in a giant sweatshirt from a thrift store that had been bought half as a joke, as it reads _World’s Best Grandpa!_ and comes down to Cosima’s knees.

It only comes midway down Delphine’s thighs, however, and Delphine is wearing nothing else.

But this, Cosima firmly reminds herself, is a serious conversation, and she will not be distracted by Delphine’s long legs or anything else.

At least for now.

Delphine fiddles with something in her hands, and it takes Cosima a moment to realize she’s lit a cigarette and is lifting it to her lips and inhaling in a smooth, practiced motion.

She’d never smoked before. Not when Cosima knew her.

“Those things will kill you, you know,” she points out lightly. Delphine only smiles before exhaling a thin plume of smoke into the sky.

“It seems I am rather hard to kill.” 

“Come on.” Cosima reaches out and snatches the cigarette from Delphine’s fingers, hopping off the car to snuff it out against the ground. Delphine sighs, and lights another one. Cosima pulls a face but doesn’t try to take it this time.

“So what now?” she asks, leaning back against the car. 

“Now,” Delphine says, “I finish this cigarette. And then I suppose we go back.”

“We go back?” Cosima asks incredulously. “So that’s it?”

“I have to go back,” Delphine says, logical like always. “Before _Maman_ calls the police. And the school semester will start soon--I’ll have to be in France for that.”

“You’re going back to France.” It’s a statement, raw and aching. “I thought--I don’t know what I thought, but--” 

“I know,” Delphine says, her eyes sliding shut. “I want this to change everything. But it doesn’t.”

“You _can’t_ go back,” Cosima says, barely hearing Delphine. “You can’t go back to that place, not where you were so unhappy, not where--” 

“I have to.” 

“You _don’t,_ you--” she cuts herself off, wrapping her arms around herself. A moment later, Delphine’s hand comes down on her shoulder. 

“Will you come back?” It’s a child’s voice that creeps out, tears at the edges, and Cosima hates it--wishes she was stronger, wishes she was better than this. More than anything, she hates the sadness in Delphine’s eyes.

_“Maman_ is selling the house here. She is moving back to France permanently, so I will not be coming back for breaks.” 

“I can’t afford to go to France.” Cosima shakes her head. “I’ve already applied to Berkeley--early decision.”

“You’ve wanted to go to Berkeley since we were small,” Delphine points out. “I would not ask you to give up that.” 

“You couldn’t--I don’t know, if you applied to Berkeley you’d get in, no question.” 

“I could not afford it, especially as my parents will not likely help pay for anywhere outside of France.”

“Fuck,” Cosima says, because that’s better than bursting into tears. “So, how long is it gonna be? Five years? Ten?”

“I do not know,” Delphine whispers. “I do not know.” 

“You can’t leave me,” Cosima says. She knows it’s pointless, but she says it anyway. “Please, you can’t leave me.” 

“I do not want to.” 

“I can’t let you go back there. I can’t let you do that to yourself, I--I--” 

“I’m sorry,” Delphine says hoarsely. Cosima shakes her head in silent objection, but in the moment, neither have words.

Something slowly starts to solidify in Cosima’s mind.

“I can’t let you do go back,” she says, “and you don’t want to leave me.”

“Yes?” Delphine’s confused, but Cosima’s brightening.

“So you don’t go. You don’t leave.” 

“Cosima, my parents would never--” 

“So you don’t ask your parents for permission. I don’t ask my mom.” 

Delphine’s only a beat behind her. “You want us to run away.”

“We could.” 

“We can’t,” Delphine says, but Cosima is already one step ahead. SHe pushes herself off the side of the car, stepping forward. 

“I have friends, they’ll help us out--we could get jobs--”

“We are too young--you’re only 17, I am 16--”

“I know a guy who makes great fake IDs.” 

“You want us to use fake IDs so we can get jobs.” 

“And vote,” Cosima points out, but she’s beaming--for the first time this night, she’s really and truly beaming. “We could do this, Delphine. We’ll figure it out as we go.”

“It’s impossible.” 

“Maybe. But we’ll be together.” Cosima turns to face Delphine. She’s still on the hood of the car, still holding the cigarette loosely in one hand, but her eyes are almost bright. She wants to hope.

“At the start of this night, you said you were hoping I would go with you. Now come with me?” It turns into a question at the last second, Cosima’s voice suddenly going wavering. Delphine slides off the car, still silent. Cosima doesn’t say anything, doesn’t push, doesn’t argue. 

She does reach out her hand.

Delphine takes it.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is a deeply personal one for me. A couple of months ago the world lost a bright, beautiful light that I was so lucky to have known, however briefly, to mental illness. I wrote this fic while trying to cope with that and a few other things in my life--so if you're wondering about the angst, that's why! Please know if you are ever feeling hopeless or alone, that you are loved and there are ways forward. In the US you can always call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255 or go to their website to chat online. Worldwide, 7cupsoftea is a great website if you need to talk, and there are many area lifelines.
> 
> Be good to each other, and be kind to yourselves. <3

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [follow (what we once held dear) (Illustration)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11752965) by [Betterwithoutname](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Betterwithoutname/pseuds/Betterwithoutname)




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